<b> <i>“In my beginning is my end”</i> </b><br/><br/> <b> TS Eliot </b><br/><br/>In a lazy summer afternoon when the sweltering heat saps you of all your creative energies, I muster all my courage to finally sit down and scratch my head (if any!) to elicit some thought-provoking original ideas for my new blog post. The question that time and again, comes to my mind is whether I should write something humorous or something grave? <br/><br/>After loitering around in the intellectual wasteland of my decrepitude, I find myself stuck – unable to break the impasse of my intellectual aridity (which I believe can be as potent as the sexual one!). After a quick shower, I once again get ready to wrestle the phantoms of my mind. <br/><br/>Why not write about ‘writing’ itself! A thought flashed across my mind. Yes, this appears to be an interesting topic for my rambling thoughts. In all solemnity, I caution my dear readers to go through the following passages at their own risk as it seeks to offer an interminable intellectual gratification rather than mere blithe pleasure! <br/><br/>Having made it clear at the very outset that this blog post is about ‘writing’, let us begin with this exciting journey. Have you ever thought about what makes someone write? Why not just ‘speak’ instead of ‘write’? Well, in this knotted mesh of jargon, one can say that speaking is ‘natural’ act whereas writing is its ‘supplement.’ <br/> <br/>I may sound a bit bizarre with such pedagogic obfuscation but these questions are an integral part of the very act of ‘writing.’ Basically, ‘writing’ is an act of desire – a conscious narcissistic act of self-expression – a ‘cathartic’ act of indulgence akin to sexual gratification. <br/><br/>Did you ever contemplate the fact that each time a reader brings forth his/her own understanding, a ‘new’ meaning gets added to the literary piece of work! With no two persons thinking alike, diverse exposition is the order of the day where each person has his own version of veracity and assigning meaning to things. This play of inference which the writer never thought of in his wildest dreams (both knowingly and unknowingly) leads to the addition of new connotations - courtesy fluidity of meaning! <br/><br/>In such a scenario, a literary piece stands as a separate entity from its author figure while the reader becomes an integral part of larger interpretative community, whose response is established by the conventions of reading that he/she has been educated into within a given socio-historical milieu. <br/><br/>Going by the above logic, if an author figure defines the principle of certain unity of writing, it is the ‘death’ of the same, which leads to the ‘birth’ of the reader – an act leading to multiple interpretations in a literary piece of work. <br/><br/>Well, having discussed the need to write and the delicate relationship among the writer, the reader and the literary piece, let me discuss the ‘power’ of a literary work. Usually, the power of a literary work lies in ‘seduction’ as the pleasure of reading is erotic in nature. Basically, a work of art has the power to seduce the reader through its logic of ‘disavowal’. Hitherto, there is a distinction between pornography and literary piece, yet both have a tremendous capacity to arouse sexual and erotic stimulation. Indeed, to ensure maximum pleasure from the literary work of art, one has to get ‘hysterical’, leading to the collapse of selfhood. The more a reader gets involved in the work of art, the more enthused he gets. <br/><br/>Having stated earlier that writing is akin to pleasure principle where an individual expresses his/her desire; it is a huge longing that asks for a close partnership among the writer, the reader and the written. <br/><br/>Once the written piece of an art sees the light of the day, it just ceases to be a part of the writer and contends for a separate individuality through reader’s response. In that case, an act of ‘writing’ is analogous to enactment of ‘death’. <br/><br/>Incontrovertibly, a writer figure is analogous to ‘Bhishma’ of the Mahabharata who can opt for his/her time and place of death. Yet again, with the boiling summer temperature encumbering my already dilapidated spirits; dear reader, I vainly strive to carry forth my literary jousting and, at last, get ready to embrace ‘death’ at your hands; only to be resurrected by your interpretations (that too, if any…)!<br/> <br/><br/><br/>
